


Lucky and Charmed

by respoftw



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/pseuds/respoftw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Pietro met Clint, he almost called the cops.  Not, as Clint would later claim, because it was criminal to look that good, but because it was 3am and Clint had been bruised and battered and covered in blood, a quiver on his back and a bow in his hands as he ransacked the shelves of the convenience store for Lucky Charms.</p><p>An AU where Pietro and Wanda never got powers and Clint really likes Lucky Charms</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky and Charmed

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of an unholy mix of Fraction Hawkeye and MCU. Some things happened as canon, some things didn't, some things happened out of order. Just go with it.

 

Pietro hated working the night shift. When he had started, Wanda had been terrified for him, her head filled with the imagined terrors of him being robbed at gunpoint, of the only family she had left bleeding out on the grimy floor of an even grimier neighbourhood convenience store. The reality was, fortunately for Wanda, much less danger-filled and, unfortunately for Pietro, much more boring. Hell, he was lucky if he served more than three customers during an eight-hour shift; the majority of his 10pm – 6am hours spent guzzling bitter coffee in an effort to stay awake. At least it gave him plenty of time to study, poring over veterinary science textbooks in the small weekend hours while the rest of his classmates were probably doing normal things like getting drunk or getting laid – both if they were lucky enough.  Neither of which Pietro had much experience with lately.   
  
Yeah, Pietro really hated working the night shift.   
  
Still, he made his own entertainment as he presided over the empty store; if you could call it entertainment. He was in the middle of mentally drafting his letter of resignation, something he did at least once a shift, when the shrill, electronic beep that meant someone had opened the front door sounded. Glancing at his watch, Pietro groaned to realise it was only just past three in the morning, the minutes between now and finishing time seeming vast and insurmountable. Any self-pitying thoughts were wiped from his mind as he glanced up and froze at the sight of his customer.   
  
Blood.   
  
Lots of blood, some of it dried, some of it alarmingly fresh and dripping onto the cracked tile of the floor as the man limped and cursed his way towards the cereal aisle. Pietro's eyes widened in alarm as he saw the quiver full of arrows strapped to the man's back, his hand twitching towards the silent alarm when he spied the hi-tech bow dangling from one of the man's soot-streaked arms.   
  
Visions of himself bleeding out from multiple arrow wounds as he lay dying on the grimy convenience store floor passed through his head (Goddamnit, why did Wanda have to be right). Would an arrow hurt more or less than a bullet, he wondered. Would it take longer to bleed out from an arrow? Maybe it would depend on how good a shot the man was? Actually, while he was thinking about it, who the hell used a bow and arrow to rob a store? What was this guy – some kind of Robin Hood wannabe or some kind of.....anti-Avenger? One of the Avengers use a bow and arrow, right? Hawk-something....Hawkguy?   
  
Recognition suddenly flooded in and Pietro's hand fell away from the alarm. Holy shit, he almost called the cops on an Avenger. Holy shit, there was an Avenger in his store! Holy shit, there was an Avenger in his store yelling about Lucky Charms. Wait...what?   
  
“Jesus Fucking Christ, can nothing go right tonight?” Crazed, half-focussed eyes whirl around to lock onto Pietro as the Avenger stalks forward. “You! I will give you all the money in my wallet, seriously – all of it, there's like thirty bucks in there, if you can magic up some Lucky Charms from the store room or something.”   
  
Pietro shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, trying desperately not to drop his eyes down to the dirty bowl and spoon that was half hidden behind the register and hoping that the madman wouldn't notice the torn open box of God's own cereal that accompanied it.   
  
No such luck.   
  
Hawkguy's eyes flashed brilliantly as they honed in on the prize, his face splitting into a wide, bright grin that pulled at something in Pietro's chest in a way that seemed a hell of a lot more dangerous than a bloody, bow-wielding stranger walking into the store. “Seriously, man.” The Avenger pleaded with him. “I'm begging you. I have had the most epic of bad nights. I don't want to bore you with it but there were aliens and slime and all sorts of nasty smells and all I want to do is head home and was this mess off me and eat some Goddamn Lucky Charms – maybe while watching some 70's kung fu. You know, I  did save the city tonight. You kind of owe me.”   
  
More amused than anything, now that he was pretty sure Wanda's predictions of a bloody death weren't about to come true, Pietro actually felt a little bad for having to crush the guys hopes but he knew for a fact that the box that he had already ripped into was the last box in the store and they weren't due a delivery until 5am. Something told him that Hawk-something couldn't hold out for another two hours without his fix.   
  
“We do not have any more in.” The Avenger's face started to crumple in on itself before Pietro had gotten more than a few words out and he just looked so heartbroken that Pietro found himself moved to go above and beyond for a customer for the first time ever in his service career. “But, I have only had one bowl from this box, there's even some marshmallows left. You can...have this one?” Pietro trailed off in horror as the eyes of the man in front of him filled up with what looked like frighteningly like tears.   
  
“You, good Sir,” the Avenger sniffed, “are a hero among men. Here, let me just get you the cash and - - FUCK!”   
  
Pietro startled as his customer swore loudly, hands frantically patting at the fabric of his leather uniform in the universal motion of searching for a wallet (although where he thought he could hide one in that skin-tight get up, Pietro had no clue).   
  
“It's fine. Just take the box. You need it more than I do.  Besides, you saved the world tonight, yes? I owe you, remember.” Pietro reassured him, holding the box out for the Avenger , biting his lip to keep from laughing as it was grabbed out of his hand and cradled lovingly against the other man's chest.   
  
“I will make this up to you.” Hawkguy promised, already starting to back hurriedly towards the door as if he was scared that Pietro was going to change his mind and demand the sugary cereal back any second. “I promise. Thank you so much...?”   
  
“Pietro.”   
  
That wide, bright grin made another appearance and another jolt of something went through Pietro's chest as the Avenger lit up the dingy convenience store. “Thank you, Pietro. If you ever need anything – just ask for me. I mean, not hero me – they don't really let civilians ask favours of the Avengers, obviously. But, ah, Clint. Ask for Clint. That's me, regular me. I own the building next door. So, I'm usually about. You know, unless I'm having another epically bad night with aliens and stuff. So....thanks.”   
  
Hawkguy,  Clint , escaped the store in a blur and Pietro just stood and stared at the empty space in front of him for a full minute, lost in the haze of what happened, before sighing, reaching for the vat of battery acid that passed for coffee in this place and opening his textbook to page seventy-six. Looking at his watch, Pietro huffed out a familiar groan. Two and a half hours to go.   
  
Two hours and forty two minutes later,  he lets himself into the poky apartment he shares with his sister.  Wanda is up and waiting for him, as usual, the cup of hot chocolate she presses at him managing to stave off his usual biting remarks about how he's twelve minutes older than her and how she really needs to stop worrying about him working nights.   
  
Collapsing on to the ratty couch, made somewhat stylish by the crochet throw Wanda had made to hide the threadbare, mustard yellow fabric, Pietro leans into the warmth of Wanda and allows her vanilla scented hands and warm Sokovian vowels to relax him.   
  
"How was work?" she asks quietly, fingers running through his hair, tracing circles into his scalp as he allows the exhaustion to set in now that he's back in a safe place.   
  
He opens his mouth with the full intention of regaling her with the story of his night and how he met an honest-to-God Avenger and how the Avenger stole his Lucky Charms.  He had , in fact, been working on the anecdote for most of the last part of his shift - planning his words just right so that Wanda would giggle and scoff and laugh in that wonderfully carefree way that he hardly ever heard anymore.  Something stops him though.  Something inside him suddenly realised that he wants to keep this - keep Clint - just for him.   
  
"Same old same old.  It is much duller than you think, I promise."     
  
He should feel bad for lying to her, he knows that.  Wanda is the only family he has left.  Hell, she's the only friend he has in this country, his fellow college students writing him off as soon as he turned down the first invitation to party with them at the weekend, those that hadn't done so as soon s they heard the thick Eastern European accent anyway.  Lying to her should be unfathomable to him and in any other circumstance he thinks it would be but this feels right.   
  
Clint can be something just for him, at least for a little while, he thinks as the hot chocolate and hair stroking does its job and sends him into a restful sleep.  A sleep filled with dreams of cereal stealing archers and screeching leprechauns with white hair and Sokovian accents.   
  
Well, it beats the nightmares he usually has.   
  
*   
  
Dreams, both of the nocturnal and diurnal variety, are all Pietro has of Clint for the next two weeks.  He knows that he could ask around and call in the promised favour, it's since become apparent to Pietro that everyone in the neighbourhood knows Clint Barton and his world-saving, tracksuit-mafia-beating, benevolent landlord, kind of crappy handyman ways, but since the only favour he can think of is asking Clint to get down on his knees and get busy..well, he's pretty sure that it's best to hold off on that just yet.   
  
There's plenty to keep him occupied in the meantime.  Lectures and studying, papers and errands, monotonous shifts at work.  All very necessary but all very dull.  Those ten or so minutes spent talking to a harried and exhausted Clint had been the most exciting thing to happen in Pietro's life since they had moved to New York.  Since they had moved to America.  Since they had left Sokovia in the dead of night, in a haze of terror and - -    
  
The obnoxious beep of the convenience store door jolts Pietro from his momentarily dark thoughts, his pulse picking up in anticipation as the now familiar dark blonde hair registers with him.  He may have only saw Clint in person that one time but in the intervening weeks he had discovered an entire corner of the Internet dedicated to getting pictures of the most elusive member of the Avengers - although it turns out the Internet stalkers were just hanging around the wrong neighbourhoods as Clint didn't definitely didn't look elusive and mysterious tonight in the glamorous stores of Bed-Stuy.  No, instead Clint looks worn down and frantic.  Again.   
  
Barely sparing a glance to where Pietro sits ramrod straight behind the counter, Clint heads straight to the pet food aisle.  Where he just stops and stares at the products on offer with a confused wrinkle between his brows.   
  
"Can I help you?"  Pietro calls out, the first time in his illustrious customer service career that he has uttered those words.  There must be something about Clint that just brought out his inner employee of the month.   
  
"It's you again." Clint sounds pleasantly surprised as he finally glances over.  "Lucky Charms!  I've been by a couple of times since and it's been someone else here.  Some Russian guy.  Big biceps. Small brain."   
  
Pietro smiles at the surprisingly apt description of his weeknight counterpart (and also, maybe, at the insinuation that Clint had come looking for him.). "I only do weekends."   
  
Clint nods, distractedly.  "Right.  That makes sense.  With the textbooks.  You're probably a student. You would have classes during the week."   
  
"I don't even had my textbook with me tonight.  How do you know that?"    
  
Clint snorts at Pietro's confused frown.  "Noticing things is kind of what I do.  You had the textbook last time.  It was yellow and faded, probably second hand but in decent condition. It was on the counter next to your phone and three highlighters.  Orange, Yellow and Pink.  Bold choice, pink.  I like a guy who is comfortable enough not to assign genders to colours.  Oh - wait - hey! It was a veterinarian textbook.  You're studying animals? Excellent.  What the hell kind of food do I get for a dog that likes Pizza?"  Clint waves his hand at the wide array of varieties on the shelves in bafflement.   
  
Semi shell shocked by Clint's rambling, Pietro takes a second to process the question before shifting from behind the counter to offer help.   
  
"How old is your dog?" He asks as he moves towards Clint, ready to wow him with his animal knowledge just as much as Clint had wowed him with his observational skills.   
  
"Um...he's about this big?" Clint holds his hand above the ground to indicate the size, telling Pietro absolutely nothing useful.   
  
Not to be deterred, Pietro perseveres.  "Well, OK.  What breed is he?"     
  
"....Brown?"     
  
Pietro just stares at him until Clint cracks.   
  
"OK, I know. I'm a horrible pet owner but I don't actually have him yet.  He's in the hospital.  He got hit by a car and lost an eye and the tracksuits who had him before were seriously not nice and I just wanted to get stuff in so I could bring him home and - I kind of suck at this taking care of another person thing."   
  
As Clint trails off in despondency, Pietro thinks that his ridiculous crush might just have stepped up a gear before something in all that rambling clicks uncomfortably in his mind. "Wait.  Are you talking about Arrow?"   
  
Clint groans.  "I'm changing his name.  No way can I have a dog called Arrow.  That's...Tony Stark levels of narcissism there.  But yeah. Arrow.  Brown. About this height."  Clint waves his hand in the air again, indicating Arrow's height.   
  
Pietro nods abruptly and pulls off the right kinds of food from the shelf and dumps them on the counter for Clint without being asked, Clint trailing after him in gratitude.   
  
"Seriously, Lucky Charms, thank you.  You're a hero.   Again .  I know I'm still due you a favour but it's been upgraded to a really big one.  Or two smaller ones.  Just... Thank you."   
  
Pietro rings him up and takes his money, his good mood gone, not even Clint's adorable babbling can bring it back as he thinks about those Russian assholes and just what he wishes he was allowed to do to them.     
  
Clint notices his sudden bad mood (of course he does) and Pietro startles as he feels calloused fingers rest on top of his hand where it lies next to the change on the counter, kind eyes looking concerned and feeling like a punch to the stomach.   
  
Pietro swallows.  "The dog's ok, right?"   
  
Clint softens visibly.  "He'll be fine."   
  
Pietro nods.  "And the men who owned him?"   
  
A hint of darkness flutters over Clint's brow before it soothes out.  "They'll be less fine."   
  
He smiles faintly and Clint's fingers moved gently against his hand for just a second before the comforting weight disappears.   
  
"I'll see you around, Lucky Charms." Clint promises, a smirk sitting in his face as he lugs his purchases towards the door.   
  
"It's Pietro!" He shouts after him as he escapes into the night.   
  
Laughter drifts back into the shop from outside and Clint calls back just before the door closes.  "I remember."   
  
Pietro catches himself smiling into the silence for the rest of his shift.   
  
Fuck , he thinks.   I'm so screwed .   
  
*   
  
Wanda could tell there was something he was hiding from her – she called it twin-tuition but Pietro was pretty sure that wasn't it.  Not that he didn't believe in twin-tuition, they'd both been through enough in their life that he was very thoroughly convinced of the existence of some sort of mystical bond that existed to let him know when his twin needed him.  When he thinks about what could have happened without that feeling....but Wanda's feelings had always seemed like more than that.  He sometimes felt like his mind was an open book to her – had, in fact, used that as an excuse to justify reading her diary when they were eleven.  It hadn't gotten him out of the dog house then – it had earned him a well deserved slap – but, ten years later, he still felt like that open book.     
  
Wanda definitely knew he was hiding something from her but whatever sixth sense she had that offered insight into his mind knew enough not to pester Pietro about it beyond letting him know she was there to talk to if he ever needed her which he was extremely grateful for.  He wasn't quite ready to open up about his...something....with Clint.   
  
Clint had become a frequent visitor to the store after the dog food incident and those moments when that crooked smile and those twinkling eyes were focused on him were fast becoming the best parts of Pietro's week.   
  
It wasn't long before Pietro found himself watching the door relentlessly, completely unable to concentrate on his studying, his heart jumping into his throat with every electronic beep, trying manfully to not think about just what the sweeping disappointment that he felt when it turned out to be a gaggle of hooded teenagers instead of Clint life-ruiner Barton meant.   
  
Clint didn't show up every shift, given how anti-social his hours were Pietro was happy to see him at all, but every time he did show up the connection that Pietro felt towards the Avenger grew stronger. Hell, he couldn't even see a box of Lucky Charms now without smiling fondly, a Pavlovian response that got him some very weird looks when he did his own grocery shopping.  Maybe he was kidding himself, he probably was, but he sometimes thought that Clint felt the connection too.   
  
Like the time that Clint brought his dog into the store.  Pietro would never forget the soft, warm look on Clint's face as he had watched him kneel down on the grimy floor to greet the excited, finally healed dog.  Pietro had looked up to Clint, grinning widely and ready to thank him for coming in, and been momentarily stunned.  He hadn't had someone look at him like that in the longest time and he honestly would have made a move right there and then if the dog hadn't chosen that exact moment to bowl him over and happily lick away at his face until Pietro was begging for mercy and Clint was howling with laughter.   
  
The moment gone, Pietro had finally escaped the four-legged beast and sold Clint his cereal fix before asking what he had finally decided to rename the dog.   
  
Clint had flushed slightly, his arm reaching up to scratch nervously at his neck.  “He's called Lucky.”   
  
Pietro had ducked his head to hide the smile that threatened to split his face,  “You must really like Lucky Charms,” he had teased.   
  
“Yeah, I kind of do.” Clint had answered seriously before clearing his throat and changing the subject until they were arguing about who was more talented: Bruce Lee or Sonny Chiba.   
  
The memory is enough to make Pietro smile as he settles in for another mind-numbing Saturday night at the convenience store.  The  shift was as dull as he had thought it would be until the beep sounded at four am and a bleary-eyed Clint, no, not just Clint but Hawkeye (yeah, Pietro had learned the hero's correct name) stumbles in.   
  
“You have coffee right?” Clint begs.  “I need coffee.  I have to get to a thing, a super important meeting that apparently needs to happen at this Godawful hour of the morning because Cap is unreasonable when it comes to any possible sightings of his boyfriend – pretend you didn't hear that – and my coffee pot broke yesterday and I haven't got a new one yet and I can't function without coffee so....coffee?”   
  
Clint was actually holding out a Black Widow branded travel coffee mug like he was Oliver Twist asking for more and Pietro works hard to choke back laughter as he obligingly pours the contents of the store coffee pot into it, already anticipating Clint's reaction when he tastes the swill.   
  
A contented sigh, before Clint rose the cup to his lips, turns into a sputtered curse as he struggles to swallow the hot tar that was masquerading as coffee.  “You call this coffee?!”   
  
“Well, the owner does.” Pietro shrugs apologetically, although the apology was probably negated by the amused smirk on his face, even in the face of Clint's eyes glaring at him for his perceived betrayal.   
  
With a look at his watch and a grimace, Clint forces himself to take another mouthful of the drink and shudders visibly as he starts to back towards the door.  “We will be talking about this again!” Clint threatens as he heads out into the predawn darkness.   
  
Chuckling, Pietro opens up his book again and started mentally counting down the minutes until Clint could make good on his threat.   
  
When Clint walks towards the store the next night to start his shift to find Clint bundled up in gloves and scarf, holding two steaming cups of a heavenly smelling brew and promptly offering one to Pietro with the all the seriousness and weight of a doctor handing out first aid at the sight of an emergency, he has to finally admit to himself that this was more than just a crush.   
  
Pietro Maximoff is falling in love with a member of the Avengers.   
  
It's maybe time to tell Wanda about what is going on with him.   
  
*   
  
Wanda takes the news surprisingly well.  There's some soft punches rabbiting against his arm in payment for holding out on her but once she's got that out of her system she calms down enough to start talking about the  real issues.   
  
"Do you think he'll introduce me to Thor?"    
  
Pietro laughs as he pulls her close and brushes his lips against her dark hair, insanely grateful that he has her in his life.  He's glad that she knows now.  As much as he had needed to keep Clint, or more accurately his feelings for Clint (which Wanda would have sniffed out in a New York minute) to himself, it feels good to finally share this with her.     
  
Later, as they share the ice cream that Wanda will only allow in the apartment if Pietro promises to eat half of it, Pietro tells her about Clint and his ridiculous obsession with sugary cereal and caffeine, about his dry humour and his soft heart and Wanda's eyes grow solemn.   
  
"You really care for him." She whispers.  "I've not seen you like this before."   
  
"I've never felt like this before." Pietro quickly busies his mouth with a spoonful of ice cream, scared of what he'll say if he continues, although he's pretty sure Wanda can guess if the half pleased, half terrified look on her face is anything to go by.   
  
It's hours later yet, as Pietro is drifting off on the couch, Wanda tucking a blanket around his shoulders that she says the words he's been dreading, perhaps the real reason he had held off on telling her for so long.  "You know, he could help us with - -"   
  
"Please don't." Pietro interrupts in a pained whisper.  Wanda lets it go for now, kissing him goodnight with a sad smile,  but they both know it's a temporary reprieve.     
  
They'll have to talk about it eventually.  They've been putting it off for too long already.   
  
*   
  
As temporary reprieves go, it's pretty damn amazing until it all goes to hell.   
  
The world was a crazy place these days and, like most people, Pietro had become used to watching the crazy on the evening news, barely blinking when a piece on gun crime segued into the latest alien invasion attempt to be thwarted by one of the growing number of superheroes that had made themselves known.   
  
It turns out that watching the destruction and chaos on the six o'clock news became a whole lot more worrying when the guy you were crushing on was the one doing the fighting.   
  
Wanda had gripped his hand tight as they both watched the footage of the Avengers battling the latest large scale disaster, Washington DC crumbling to the ground in HD and full surround sound. Pietro's heart had been in his throat the entire time, every inch of him burning with the need to know that Clint was OK, that he was safe.  Cutting class on Friday afternoon, after the fires had been put out and the arguments about who was going to pay for the property damage started,  to stomp through the apartment building that Clint owned proved fruitless.  He hadn't been back, no one had seen him or heard from him and Pietro had managed to stave off a meltdown just long enough to grab a power nap before starting work that night.   
  
Sitting behind the counter while Clint could be dead, dying or injured makes Pietro feel about an inch tall.  He's never hated himself more than he does right now.   Powerless.  Helpless.  Pathetic.   
He's so deep in misery and worry that he doesn't register just who had walked through the the door until he hears a bitten off Russian curse come from the cereal aisle, vivid red hair jumping out at him as Natasha Romanov herself walks towards him with a box of Count Chocula and a gallon of milk.   
  
Everything about Black Widow is intimidating, even dressed as she is in jeans and a soft hoodie. Pietro can feel the danger roll off her in waves and it seems inconceivable that this is the same woman that Clint claims sends him links to cute kitten videos on a daily basis.  He feels like his tongue has grown two sizes too big for his mouth and the last thing he wants to do is engage with someone who could kill him with her pinky finger but for Clint, well, for Clint he's coming to realise that there isn't much he wouldn't do.   
  
He doesn't trust his mouth to form coherent words right now so he places last the box of Lucky Charms that he had rescued from the shelves at the start of the night on the counter silently, trying not to wilt under the appraising gaze of the Black Widow.   
  
She nods coolly to him in thanks as she takes the box and leaves the cash on the counter, turning to leave and Pietro feels himself jump to his feet and watches in horror as his hand reaches out to grab her arm, to stop her leaving.   
  
She freezes under his touch and Pietro knows that he's playing with fire, knows that he is taking his life into his own hands but he just  - he needs to know..."Is he OK?" His voice is surprisingly strong as he asks the question, he's almost proud of himself.     
  
As Natasha drops her narrowed eyes to his hand on her shoulder, he yanks it back to safety but otherwise stands his ground.   
  
She stares at him for a beat before the corner of her mouth twitches in what he thinks (hopes) might be amusement.  "He's going to be fine."   
  
Relieved, Pietro sighs thankfully and smiles shakily as he watches her grab a Mars Bar from the stand on the counter, raising an eyebrow at him as if daring him to do something about it and leaves.   
  
The rest of his shift passes in a blur and as he lets himself in to their apartment later that morning, he all but collapses against Wanda's waiting form.    
  
"He's ok." He laughs in relief.  "He's ok."   
  
*   
  
"You faced down Nat for me?  Lucky Charms, you got balls!"  Clint's voice sounds gleeful as he hobbles his way into the store the next night, precariously balancing on crutches and sporting flourishes of purple bruises over most of his visible skin.   
  
Pietro is over the counter and across the room in a flash, guiding Clint gently to sit down on the stuffing challenged stool that had pride of place behind the register, cursing in Sokovian the entire time at the idiocy of Clint even being on his feet, much less making his way across the street to the store.   Of all the stupid, reckless, unbelievable...   
  
"Hey, if you're gonna whisper sweet nothings in my ear, at least do it in English.  I only know the dirty words in Sokovian." Clint teases gently but the hard glare that Pietro directs his way causes his smirk to twist into a soft, understanding smile.  "It looks worse than it is." Clint's hand closes gently over Pietro's arm where he's hovering protectively over the stool and the gentle motion of bow calloused fingers stroking over his skin breaks down the last bit of defence that Pietro had been holding on to.   
  
With Clint pulled flush against him, warm, tan skin pressed close against him, Pietro feels, for the first time since...everything, that the world is right.  Clint is loose and lax in his arms, boneless in the best kind of way as he shuffles his face to breathe deeply against Pietro's neck.   
  
"Bout damn time." He mutters against skin, Pietro feeling every movement of those perpetually smirking lips like a shiver of lightning across his nerves.  "You're not exactly speedy, are you?"   
  
"Shut up." Pietro grumbles, or at least he tries to grumble.  It probably doesn't have the same effect when spoken through a smile as wide as the one that is plastered on his face.   
  
Still, Clint seems to get the hint as he stops talking and starts kissing, a gentle press of lips that soon transforms into something more passionate and wild before turning tender and soft again. It's nothing like Pietro had imagined their first kiss; it's a million times more wonderful and he's just so damn happy that when Clint asks him on a date he says yes immediately.   
  
It's only as Clint starts talking about picking him up at his apartment and taking him out to dinner ("somewhere nice, fancy, but still serves pizza") that reality intrudes on his happiness.  They're supposed to be laying low, keeping their heads down, staying out of the spotlight.  it's why he works in a crummy store, it's why he and Wanda live in a one-bed apartment that means he has to sleep on the threadbare couch.  It's what their lives have become and suddenly dating an Avenger doesn't fit into their plans.   
  
Pietro has never hated his situation more than he does in this moment.   
  
He pulls back from Clint, reluctantly, and looks him in the eye, ready to do the right thing, the smart thing but..."We should stay in," he hears himself say.  "You're hurt.  I can come to you." He forces a smile on his face, attempting to sound light hearted and carefree, despite the fear and uncertainty raging  in his mind.  "You can cook me dinner."   
  
"I will cook you the best dinner you've ever had." Clint promises, pressing close for more lazy kisses.     
  
Pietro lets himself be lost in the feel and taste of Clint, he wants this.  So much.  It's all going to be fine.   
  
Natasha eventually shows up and drags Clint back home, lecturing him about recovery time and doctors orders the entire time.  "I don't think she appreciated me sneaking out on her." Clint mock whispers to him as he's getting pulled out the store, leaving Pietro alone with his thoughts - which is the last place in the world he wants to be.   
  
The only thing that takes his mind off just how screwed he is, is imagining just how hard Wanda is going to flip that he's got a date.     
  
It's a long night.   
  
*   
Pietro feels ridiculous in the outfit that Wanda had chosen for him.  Actually, Pietro feels ridiculous that Wanda had even chosen his outfit in the first place but she had taken one look at the jeans and button down shirt that he was planning to wear and frog-marched him to the couch, sat him down with a cup of tea and proceeded to dismiss her way through most of Pietro’s wardrobe before settling on what was apparently the only acceptable date outfit he owned.  An outfit which consisted of jeans that felt painted on and a t-shirt that was snug across the chest and uncomfortably tight around the sleeves but which Wanda assured him made him look “buff and manly.”   
  
He’d spent most of the walk from his and Wanda’s run-down apartment block to Clint’s much nicer one trying to forget that she’d ever said such a thing (and the teasing slap she’d given to his ass on his way out the door.)  It had helped take his mind off just how nervous he was. Except, now, as he finds himself frozen in the hallway outside Clint’s door, he’s suddenly two seconds from turning about and marching back home where Wanda will be waiting and there will be blankets and hot chocolate and absolutely no danger; of broken hearts, or anything else.   
  
Almost as if he could sense Pietro’s hesitance, Clint chooses that moment to swing his door open wide, the hallway suddenly filled with the smell of tomatoes and basil and the manic barking of Lucky who is barely being held back from running out to greet his second favourite human.  One look at Clint’s wide smile and all thoughts of running emptied from his mind.   This ;  this is what he wanted, this is  who he wanted and he’ll be damned if he lets anyone take that away from him.   
  
“You’re here,” Clint smiles.  “Lucky started barking like mad and at first I thought it was just because I was browning the meatballs but then he started pawing at the door and I hoped it might be because - - CRAP – the meatballs!”  Graceful attempts to suddenly change direction were a bit beyond Clint, hampered by the crutches as he was, and his attempt to reach the stove resulted in him almost landing on his face.   
  
Nerves gone, Pietro closes the door behind him and manoeuvres Clint onto one of the stools at the counter, throwing his jacket on to the coat stand before taking over kitchen duties without a second thought.   
  
“Where do you keep your apron?” he asks, frowning at the mess at he tries to avert almost disaster in the kitchen.   
  
Clint looks bemused as he explains that he doesn’t own an apron and the look of disbelief that Pietro throws him, coupled with the pointed look at the spaghetti-sauce splattered t-shirt he’s wearing caused him to almost fall off his stool with laughter.   
  
They sit down to a surprisingly pleasant meal later – one that Clint takes all the credit for despite Pietro pretty much having to start from scratch – and when Clint complements him by telling him he looks “buff”, Pietro laughs so hard that beer pours out of his left nostril and he wonders how he could ever have even considered not letting himself have this.   
  
Later still, when he carefully peels Clint’s trousers off, when he runs his tongue over hard, supple muscle and pants, open-mouthed,  against sweat-soaked skin, he knows that he would do anything to never have to give this up.   
  
*   
  
Clint is like an addiction and Pietro finds himself thinking, more than once, that this is how Clint must feel about Lucky Charms. Pietro  just can't get enough of him; his sarcastic comments, his smirking grin, his weird fixation with the colour purple, just every damn thing about him makes Pietro crave more.  As for the sex, well, let's just say that Wanda had made them vow never to do that within her hearing range again.  He still remembers spitting out his coffee when Clint had shrugged nonchalantly and serenely stated that it's not his fault that "your brother is a screamer."   
  
He knew he'd regret introducing Clint to Wanda.   
  
Except for how he doesn't regret it one bit.  Except for how Clint's snark and irreverence has captured Wanda's imagination and pulled her out of the in-between existence that she's been living since Sokovia.  With Clint around, her laughter fills the room again, her eyes brighten and the tension in her face eases and Pietro has his sister back the way she used to be.   
  
He's pretty sure Clint Barton has magical powers, despite his assurance that he's a regular schmuck that just happens to have good aim.   
  
It's not perfect; their relationship.  Clint is a slob and Pietro likes things neat; a side effect of living in such an enclosed space.  Pietro still has to work nights and balance his course load, Clint can be called away to save the world at any moment, even mid-thrust as they had spectacularly found out one night a month into their relationship.   
  
There are bigger imperfections too.   
  
Pietro refuses to let Clint spoil him like he so desperately wants to.  "Come on, Lucky Charms, I wanna show you off.  See if I can get in the glossy mags and steal some column inches away from Stark.  Don't you want to be my mysterious, unidentified companion?"   
  
Pietro feeds him some cock and bull story about privacy and hating getting his picture taken and those words combined with a well-timed blow job normally do the trick.   
  
It's harder to justify refusing to step foot in Avengers Tower.  It's not like he can tell the truth, no matter how often Wanda urges him to do so.  He feels awful when he uses his parents death as an excuse, confiding in Clint about the Stark designed weapons that killed his family; he hates himself for letting Clint comfort him, no matter how true the story is.  He might have blames Stark at one point in his life, but time and experience have changed his opinions.  Everyone makes mistakes, he knows this only too well.   
  
Clint has his secrets too, the way he tensed up and clammed shut when Pietro had asked about his family had proven that.  It had felt novel, being on the other end of the well-timed blow job as a distraction tactic for a change.   
  
In a strange way though, it's these imperfections that Pietro cherishes the most.  They prove that what he and Clint have is real.  It's the realest thing in Pietro's life and while that does terrify him, it's also the most wonderful feeling in the world.   
  
Pietro's new normal soon revolves around Clint.  Eating pizza and drinking beer in Clint's apartment, sat in front of the TV with Lucky begging for scraps at their feet.  Pietro cooking for Clint and Wanda in their tiny kitchenette with the sound of laughter as a soundtrack.   Wanda even gets to meet Thor eventually, although Pietro had noticed that her eyes kept drifting towards the weird robot guy that accompanied him.   
  
Life is good.    
  
Imperfect, but good.   
  
And then Barney futzing Barton had barged back into Clint's life.   
  
Natasha's pursed lips had been his first warning that the older Barton brother was bad news and when it was all done and dusted, Clint nursing a few more bullet holes and Barney having ridden off into the sunset with a whole heap of Clint's money, Pietro knew that he would have no qualms about beating the crap out of Barney Barton the next time he dared to intrude on their life.   
  
He feels so fiercely protective of Clint in that moment that he forgets to freak out about the fact that he thinks of it as  their life now.   
  
"He wasn't always like that, yknow?" Clint's voice manages to be fond and frustrated at the same time as he spills his secrets into Pietro's neck, the two of them stretched out, limbs tangled on Clint's bed, Pietro being ever so careful about where he places himself, so very conscious of the fact that Clint is, once again, a walking pile of wounds.   
  
"Our Dad was....he was kind of an ass.  Wrapping the car around a tree would have been the best thing he'd ever done for us if he hadn't taken our Mom with him."   
...   
"Barney was all I had for the longest time.  Sorta like you and Wanda.  He was my world."   
...   
"And then I was on my own again.  No carnival, No Barney, Nothing."   
...   
"God, Coulson was a pain in the ass.  So damn sure that I was capable of more, for a while it seemed like nothing I did was good enough."   
...   
"It took me a long time to realise that he was right, that he was doing the right thing by me.  I guess, I'd never really had that before."   
...   
"He was so fricking mad when I brought Nat in.  For like, two seconds until she had him wrapped around her little finger, heh."   
...   
"It was kind of like having a family again."   
...   
"I think he'd have really liked you."   
...   
"....I don't want to talk about Loki.  Natasha will tell you what you need to know."   
  
Clint talks himself hoarse until hours have passed and all his secrets are left bared.  Pietro doesn't know what to do with this gift that he's been given, the intimacy of the night and the trust that Clint has given him is overwhelming in the most humbling of ways.   
  
Pietro wakes up the next morning in the arms of the man he loves, the man who he knows loves him back and He knows that this is the turning point, it's time to take Wanda's advice and open up to Clint about their own past.  It's past time, really.   
  
He texts Wanda that day, between classes, and she sends him a snapchat of herself mid eye-roll, holding up the word "Finally!" written in glitter pen.  She follows it up with a phone call filled with assurances that this is the right thing to do and promises to be there with him if he wants her there and it's just another of a million reasons why Wanda is the best sister in the world.   
  
It's like a weight has been lifted from his back, he practically floats through the air as he goes about the rest of his day, secure in the knowledge that he's made the right decision.  He even participates in the group discussion in class that afternoon and when he gets an invite to a study group he starts to wonder just how much of his isolation had been self-imposed after all.   
  
And then it all comes crashing down around his ears.   
  
"Hey, Lucky Charms," the familiar nickname at the start of the voice message brings a smile to Pietro's face.  "I'm gonna have to take a rain check on tonight.  Cap finally got a lead on von Strucker and List."  Pietro freezes mid stride as the names sink into his consciousness like a lead weight.  The rest of the voicemail sounds echoey and hollow to his ears.  "They're, ah, they're the bad guys.  That whole HYDRA thing that you've probably saw on the news - Come on Steve, he does watch the news, I'm not telling him anything he doesn't already know - Anyway, they're apparently in Sokovia, if you can believe it.  So I'm on my way there in the jet now.  I'll be back soon and hey, I'll even try and bring you back a souvenir from your mother country.  Love you, Lucky Charms.  Oh and Vision says hi to Wanda."   
  
Pietro doesn't remember falling to his knees, doesn't know how Wanda found him kneeling on the sidewalk a block from their building.  He does remember the way Wanda's face had paled as she listened to the voicemail.  He does know that his delay in coming clean with Clint could now be ruining everything.   
  
Von Strucker and List.   
  
Pietro knows those names, he'll never forget those names.  Those men almost ruined their lives and he just hopes to God that they aren't about to do it all over again.   
  
*   
  
Pietro has to wait for three days until he hears from Clint.  Three agonising days where he can barely function and sleepwalks his way through classes, losing any ground he may have gained with his classmates in the all too brief period of happiness that he can barely remember now.   
  
"Tell me you're not HYDRA."    
  
When the call comes, Clint sounds as wrecked as Pietro feels which should be some comfort to him but really just makes him feel even worse, knowing that he was responsible for that hoarse, broken plea.   
  
"I'm not HYDRA."  His own voice cracks painfully and every fibre of his being is screaming for Clint to believe him.   
  
"There are files here.  Natasha found them.  They have your name on them, yours and Wanda's. You were here, in this base.  This HYDRA fucking base, Pietro.  What the hell am I supposed to think?" Clint's voice grows in desperation and volume until he's screaming down the line, raw and agonised sounding.   
  
"Clint, please, I should have told you what happened but I promise that we are not the bad guys.  If you just read the files, you'll see and - -"   
  
"I told you everything." Pietro had never heard Clint sound so small, not even that night when he had shared his past.  Knowing that it was his betrayal of trust that has caused this was a pain far greater than any that HYDRA had the chance to inflict.   
  
Before he can respond, his mind searching for some magic string of words that would somehow make this all better, he hears a scuffle on the other end of the line and Clint's small, broken voice is replaced by Natasha - by Black Widow - in  all her cold fury.     
  
"The files are encrypted but believe me when I say that we will find out what's in them.  There is nowhere you will be able to hide from us, from me, if I find out you've been playing him.  The fact that he loves you only means that I will make your death quick, do you understand me?"  She ends the call without waiting for an answer, not that Pietro could have done more than nod feebly as his knees buckle and he sits on the couch in shocked silence.     
  
As if summoned by his distress, twin-tuition again, Wanda appears by his side, her arm pulling him close in silent support, whispering words of comfort that he doesn't deserve.  "It'll all be fine, you'll see.  It's going to be fine."   
  
At least the monsters that they've been hiding from are gone now, he thinks.  It should be a relief. Knowing that it might have cost him Clint though, well, Pietro would have gladly put up with the monsters forever.   
  
*   
  
Screaming.     
Pietro had woken up alone to the sound of screaming; three concrete walls and a fourth transparent one that made him feel uncomfortably like an animal in a zoo.   
He'd soon find out that was an appropriate metaphor for their situation.  Although, really, it was more like being an animal in a laboratory than a zoo.     
Experiments.   
Pain.   
Gas seeping from the vents In his cell, struggling to breathe until darkness won.   
Waking up strapped to cold metal tables.   
Fire burning through his veins and passive faces watching from behind a clipboard.   
The soul sinking realisation that they had Wanda too.   
The crush of guilt when he realised that he was to blame, von Strucker leering down at him as he was held immobile and helpless.   
They were to be his greatest service to HYDRA, his greatest creation,  his .   
The bone deep revulsion that had Pietro heaving thin strands of bile into the corner of his cell.   
The desperate promise that he would find a way to get Wanda out of there before it was too late.   
The shame when Wanda was the one that ended up saving him.   
The relief when they finally sucked in fresh air.   
The mad, panicked sprint through the Sokovian forest.   
The lingering paranoia and terror that HYDRA would find them again.   
The empty existence in a foreign land that felt more like purgatory than living.   
The bright ray of hope that cut through everything when a bruised and bloody Avenger limped into his life.   
  
Pietro jolted awake, gasping for breath.  A nightmare.   The nightmare.  It had been so long since he'd had it, Clint had seemed to chase all those thoughts away but Pietro remembered the routine.   
  
Get up, dump the sweat soaked sheets in the laundry basket, check on Wanda, drink copious amounts of coffee until it was time to start the day.   
  
It was uncanny how easily he fell back to old habits.   
  
*   
  
Pietro is in the middle of mentally drafting his resignation letter -  Dear management, I can't work here without remembering how I met the best thing that ever happened to me and how I fucked it all up \- when the shrill, electronic beep that meant someone had opened the front door sounds.   
  
"Got any Lucky Charms?"   
  
Pietro's head whips up in surprise as Clint walks slowly towards him, as if he were approaching a wild animal.   
  
"Clint? I - - I - - are you OK?"   
  
Clint's lips pull up in their familiar grin, although Pietro notices that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I'm good.  It's been a hell of a week but the bad guys are dead and I even put a couple of extra arrows in them, for you and Wanda."   
  
"Does that mean that - -?" Pietro trails off, unable to actually ask if he was forgiven, too afraid that the answer might be 'no'.   
  
Clint isn't afraid to answer.  "I was an idiot to doubt you.  For even a second.  And, God, I hope you can forgive me for that.  In fact, I'll give you all the money in my wallet - there's like thirty bucks in there - if you say that you forgive me."     
  
The familiar words cause Pietro to huff a breath of laughter. "I've fallen for that line before."   
  
Clint's answering laugh is light and joyful in its relief as he pulls Pietro from behind the counter, grinning wickedly.  "What can I say? I'm sneaky like that."    
  
It had only been a week or so but kissing Clint again feels like coming home.     
  
"They're really dead?" Pietro whispers.   
  
Clint's eyes darken for a moment and Pietro is reminded of just how dangerous his boyfriend is. "There were videos of what they did to Wanda, to  you .  Believe me when I say that if they weren't dead before that then they would be dead after that, I promise you."   
  
Pietro melts a little bit at that, how could he not, and pulls him back for more soft, teasing kisses. "You just want to keep your Lucky Charm supplier in your good books."     
  
"Always."   
  
*   
  
The Avengers Tower was every bit as imposing as Pietro had imagined but the actual Avengers were every bit as welcoming as Clint had promised.    
  
It felt like nothing more than a group of friends drinking beer and having fun and Pietro felt himself slowly relax into Clint as they sat on the floor and watched in amusement as Wanda attempted to teach Vision how to dance.  This was...nice.  It wasn’t warm and loving - at least not in the stereotypical Hallmark card kind of way (there would always be far too much snark and casual punching in the room for that to happen) - but that just made it feel more like home, like family.  

 

A maladjusted family that showed their regard through casual violence and caustic yet fond remarks but family all the same.   
  
"So, Maximoff" Tony's voice interrupts the heckling of Vision’s lack of rhythm as he turns toward Clint and Pietro.  "I’m utterly betrayed by the fact that Clint hasn’t introduced us before now, especially since you seem to have met almost everyone else already.  That hurts by the way, Barton.  So tell me, how did you two meet, anyway?"   
  
"Well," Pietro grinned widely, exchanging a wink with Clint, before putting on a ridiculous Irish accent.   "He stole me lucky charms."

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful [grace9524](http://grace9524.tumblr.com/) has drawn some fan art for this which can be found: [here](http://pietrolovesclint.tumblr.com/post/136375710834/grace9524-yes-as-its-written-this-is-fan-art)


End file.
